“One day I was lying on the beach and heard lots of people cheering and shouting. I was too preoccupied to find out what had happened. After a while, all was quiet. It was the fall of Germany, and I had missed it. About four months later, as I sat at the bar in a joint, I heard cheering and shouting again; however, I was too interested in the bottle of rum next to me. It was late that night before anyone told me Japan had surrendered. We were fighting Japan? What had happened to Germany? My buddy wanted another swig. Then he blurted out that Germany had surrendered in the spring, Hitler was dead, and Germany was now divided. Divided? What did he mean? He took another swig, and then he elaborated. The United States, France, and England each got a piece of Germany, and Russia got a big piece. Berlin itself was divided.
“I stopped drinking that night. I missed everything. What happened to the admiral? I wondered what happened to my mother? Greta? Could I go there to find them? I had to know. It was time to become human again. I spent the next week at the American Consulate. I was seeking information. I found out I could fly to England since the Bahamas were a protectorate of England. I could take a boat to France. Germany was devastated — there were no guarantees that I could get there, but I could get as far as France. That was something.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Heaving a sigh of grief as he remembered the next part of the story, Pierce continued to complete what he called his legacy.
“I arrived in Germany in October 1945. There was a chill in the foul air. The stench of death, defeat, despair, and famine was more pervasive than the cold front which came through. Military police were everywhere. Every German appeared to be on the verge of starvation. Vacant looks told of true defeat. Germany was gone as I had remembered it. I brought cash but found out that Germans were prohibited from having American currency. Most business was done by barter. Cigarettes became the new money. Whole cities were gone, and nothing but rubble remained. So many people displaced or killed! Germany would never come back. But Nazis were gone forever, and so were many good Germans.
“I had both a driver and a bodyguard. I was warned there were still some renegade groups of people who refused to surrender, and were dangerous. The consulate would not let me enter the country without protection, even though I told them my mother was in Berlin. Of course, I could not tell them that she shared my real name. Perhaps they felt anyone who wanted to go to Germany had to have a good reason.
“We were cruising down the autobahn, one of Hitler’s projects. Suddenly, we came to a roadblock. At the roadblock, the Russian guards would not let us pass, telling my driver that the frontier was closed. Frontier? This was the heart of Germany. Berlin was just down the road. My driver asked how we could get into Berlin then, the American side, of course. The Russians just laughed and told us we could not pass through. We must return the way we had come.
“Eventually we found we could fly into Berlin, although we would have to wait two weeks before a flight was available. It was the longest two weeks of my life. Our accommodations were fair, but we could not escape the horror of the war. No matter where I went, I saw death and destruction, even in the countryside. Burned-out and bullet-ridden tanks, airplanes, guns, and trucks littered the landscape. Mercifully, our plane left on time.
“Berlin was not as bad as I had heard. Some sections had escaped total devastation. My mother’s house was located in one of these sections. When we reached the front of the house, we found many American jeeps in the driveway. It was now a command post. I walked up the drive, and was stopped by an MP. I requested a visit with the commander, and was ushered into my grandfather’s library. There sat a colonel who said his name was Hayes.
“‘What can I do for you, Mr. Pierce?’ He picked up my name from the passport.
“‘I’m looking for the owner of this house.’
“‘I’m afraid he is dead, and the house is now the property of the U.S. government,’ Hayes retorted.
“‘No, the owner before the Nazis took it.’
“‘That would be Emma Franz, of the munitions Franz empire, wouldn’t it? Why do you need to find her?’ He had grown very suspicious now.
“‘Yes, that’s right, she is my aunt.’
“‘Are you German?’
“‘I’m an American, born and raised on Long Island.’
“‘No shit! What part of Long Island?’
“‘Westhampton, to be exact.’
“‘No kidding? I grew up in East Moriches, on the north shore.’
“‘Colonel Hayes, East Moriches is on the south shore.’
“‘Okay, just checking if you were really from there. We get a lot of desperate people coming in here. So, Emma Franz is your aunt huh?’
“‘That’s right. Can you tell me where I can find her?’
“‘It’s not good news I’m afraid — she is in an asylum. The war has taken its toll. I’ll give you the address.’
***
“The asylum was worse than I expected. It was an old hospital which had been used as a jail during the war. There were bars on the windows and a big fence around the compound. It was a prison without guards. The administrator told me I could find my mother in the garden, even though it was rather cool that day.
“I recognized her right away. She was seated properly on a barren bench. She did not appear to notice the weather. Actually, she didn’t notice anything, according to the administrator. She was off somewhere — nobody knew where.
“‘Hello, Mother,’ I said. There was no reaction. I was suddenly overwhelmed, and started to cry. I sat with her for hours. She never moved. That night I contacted the consulate, and asked about taking her to America. They told me it could be done in about eight to ten months. They gave me the name of a doctor.
“I visited my mother for four weeks straight. The doctor was happy to have a paying customer, but he was not able to help Mother. He said she would be catatonic until she died. I really didn’t know what to do. I didn’t care about the money it would cost to take care of her in America; it was just that I wasn’t sure I could stand seeing her this way. I was feeling very dark sitting on the bench with Mother, when I heard a familiar voice.
“‘Hello, Wolf.’ It was the wife of Admiral Canaris, Winnie. ‘I heard you were in town. I come to see your mother once a month. We were good friends before the war. I think it has been bad for all of us.’
“‘I don’t know what to say,’ I stammered.
“‘Nothing needs to be said — we take care of our own. I will watch over your mother until neither of us needs watching; I have nothing more to give. She did care for you — she just couldn’t say it. She got caught up in the moment.’
“‘I’m sorry about your husband. He was my friend and mentor. I respected him more than any other man I have known.’
“‘Here,’ she said, handing me a crumpled letter. ‘He wanted you to read this. It came from his prison before he died.’
***
“Dear Wolf,
“I’m sure that you are well. I trained you to be. Your mission now is to protect the tablet. Don’t let it out until the right time. I trust your judgment and can only tell you that I enjoyed our relationship. My time and work is over. I hope that I made a difference. I’m sure you will tell me all about it when we see each other in another life.
“Yours Truly,
“Wilhelm Canaris
P.S: Listen to the voices.
***
“I went back to the Canaris home with Winnie and found it was now a small apartment in central Berlin. Their two children had grown up since I had seen them, but were frozen in time in a picture on the small mantle.
“Winnie told me they had been her great joy but were now gone. Both died during an air raid in 1944. Now her only reason for living was to help people she knew, Mother included. I asked what I could do. She did not reply. I told her I was considering taking Mother back to America. She told me Mother hated America, and would prefer to stay here. I understood. I then asked if sh
e needed any money, and she started to cry. She told me she had nothing and would soon be evicted to the street. I had forgotten how proud some people were. She was destitute, but would not ask for help, even from an old friend.
“So we made a deal, a business transaction really. Germans always respected a good deal. I would pay her to watch Mother, and to send me messages of any progress. She could continue to help all her friends. I felt good and knew Mother would be with someone who cared about her. In addition to money, I had sympathy.
“I visited Winnie several more times, and soon helped her to move to an actual house which had tenants. It would be her house to live in from now on, since I bought it for two thousand American dollars.
“One night I asked her about Greta. She told me Greta was in Siberia. She had been captured by the Russians, and exiled to the tundra. I felt sorry. She did not deserve her fate.
“It was now late winter in Germany. I spent over three months locating people, visiting with them, and trying to understand the reasons for what had happened. I tried to find out whether anyone remembered my mission. I found no one. I stayed away from rum. I turned to beer, sausages, and bratwurst. My waistline showed it. I was becoming a typical German businessman — balding, out of shape, and making deals everywhere.
“One day I was having a little breakfast of three eggs, sausage, apple pancakes, and coffee when I decided to read the Times, something I had not done in months. I was paying more attention to my food than the paper, but the ad was unmistakable: ‘Wolf, Urgent.’
“‘Frank, how are you?’
“‘Thank God you called. Another two weeks, and it would be too late.’
“‘Too late? Too late for what?’
“‘Too late to buy your house back, Walter. Your house is up for sale.’
“‘What? How could that be?’
“‘It was in the paper, Walter. The military is giving up more than half the old base. There are five thousand acres going up for auction on March 30. You can buy back your old house. But you’ll have to hurry.’
“‘Frank, this is great news. I’ll head home immediately.’”
Chapter Sixty
“The trip back to America gave me time to think. America was really my home, whereas Germany had been a cause for me to be compulsive about. I could regain my boyhood home. I would be happy then. My only concern was that I might not have enough money left. I spent my inheritance like a madman for over two years. I hoped it had not ruined my one chance to be happy. When I arrived in New York, my first call was to my banker in Switzerland. He told me that I had only spent the interest on my money, and not even that — I was a millionaire.
“The real estate sale — or should I say ‘auction’ — took place in the courthouse in Riverhead. There were many people there. All wanted a piece of the land. I wanted it all.
“The auctioneer said we could bid on any part as long as we bid in five-acre lots. He noted the fire lanes that traverse the area were property of the county, and made rights-of-way for the land in the forests. As a result, he said, any parcel was accessible by road. There were large topographical maps of the area on the wall. People could use a grease pencil to mark areas that they wanted. The going rate was fifteen dollars an acre. If more than one person wanted a parcel, then it would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. It all seemed to be quite fair. However, I was not interested in fair, just in getting my house and all the land.
“The actual auction was set to start in a half-hour. I had circled the entire map and sat down to wait, feeling confident and relaxed. It was then that I heard a small commotion and turned to see what was going on. In the middle of the room, there stood a soldier with a young woman. He had on full military dress, and I could not help but notice the medals on his chest. I did not know what they stood for. I asked Frank, who was seated next to me, who the man was.
“‘That’s Stan Banyon. He’s a true war hero,’ he said. ‘He comes from Eastport. He’s still recovering from injuries he suffered in Burma during the war. He lived in the jungle for about a year with Merrill’s Marauders — most did not make it back. That’s his fiancée; she’s from the city someplace. Guess they want some land to start a family.’
“‘Maybe I’ll let him have a little piece of my land,’ I chuckled. Actually I was extremely jealous. Everyone paid attention to Banyon, and you could see they all felt he was a hero — his medals proved it. I was a hero, too, only no one fussed over me, and I had no medals. He also had a woman and I did not.
“The gavel sounded to begin the auction. There were over twenty overlapping circles on the map, so I knew it would take a long time. First awarded was the land that was not in dispute. I was awarded the first twenty-six hundred and fifty acres for the going rate of fifteen dollars an acre. For fewer than forty thousand dollars, I instantly became the largest landowner in Speonk, and maybe in the entire county. Actually, I bought the land under the name of the South Fork Gun Club. It was a name Frank and I cooked up.
“The first real competition was with a man named Kramer, who owned a real estate business. The one hundred acres he wanted were smack-dab in the middle of the entire plot, and it was one of the highest places in the area. At thirty dollars an acre, he gave up. The next fifty acres went for twenty-five dollars an acre, and so it went. I did let a couple of people buy land on the very fringes of the south and north, but the rest would belong to me.
“Finally we were down to the most western portions on the map. The sections along Speonk-Riverhead Road were prime property. So far I had five thousand five hundred acres, at a cost of less than one hundred thousand dollars. I decided to let the people south of my house win the auction; it would be good to have neighbors. All three got their land for fifteen dollars and fifty cents per acre. Everyone was surprised and pleased. I thought it would be good press and happy neighbors for me, too. Now came the big one — the land I really wanted. But something was wrong: the auctioneer was talking to Banyon and not pounding his gavel. I stood up and bid a hundred dollars per acre and was ignored. What was going on?
“Soon the auctioneer came to the podium and made an announcement. A ten-acre parcel was awarded to Stan Banyon. I stood up again and screamed, ‘There was no auction, I was robbed; that land is mine.’ Everyone looked at me like I was an ogre, Scrooge, or maybe a fanatic land-grabbing outsider.
“The auctioneer explained that as part of his discharge, Stanley Banyon was guaranteed by law to have first rights on any government land up for auction after the war. It was part of the G.I. bill, and it ruined my miserable life. Any attempt by me to get the land would be perceived as criminal. I had lost once again.
“Frank and I paid our money, but it wasn’t as happy an occasion as I had hoped. It was then that I started a different life, and developed plots that survive today.
“I was staying with Frank in the small apartment over his store. I hadn’t heard from the voices for many years, and I thought that they were gone. Frank’s mother had died while I was in Germany, so he now lived alone. I sometimes felt sorry for him. He was only in his mid-twenties and had no woman. The long hours at the store, and taking care of me left him little time to find a woman. He was perhaps more lonely than myself, if that was possible.
“I was hard on him. I rediscovered my old friend rum, and we were having a swell time. I wallowed in my misery, fevered with the contempt that I felt over the failure to purchase my house.
“One night we decided to go out to dinner at our favorite restaurant, Lenny’s. We had gone there often, and we became friendly with the owner. The place was wall-to-wall people in the summer. We were privileged to have a table reserved for us. We were seated at our table, admiring the many women in the place, when Lenny came by and sat down with us. A bottle of rum decorated our table. Lenny poured himself a drink.
“‘You know, Walter, I’m going to sell this place.’
“‘Why?’ I inquired. ‘This place is a gold mine.’
“‘Yeah, in t
he summer, but in the winter we don’t get much business from the locals, and I haven’t had a Saturday night off in over twenty years. I have a good manager, but I want to see Florida before I die — I’m over sixty, you know.’
“It made me think about my life. It was the opposite of Lenny’s. I was always on the move. I had been to so many places, but I had no roots. My mind was on other things — and then I saw Banyon. I could not mistake the black wavy hair and the pencil mustache. It was Banyon, coming out of the kitchen, dressed in a chef’s hat and carrying a boiled lobster the size of Texas.
“‘What’s he doing here?’ I slurred hotly.
“Lenny looked up. ‘Oh, Stan works here on weekends. He was a cook during the war, works fast and cheap. He’s trying to make extra money so he can get married and move into his house.’
“My brain was swimming. I saw blood before my eyes, and I recognized the signs of a new compulsion taking root. I wanted to make things as difficult on Banyon as I could.
“‘I’ll buy your restaurant,’ I offered. My main purpose in rashly agreeing to buy the restaurant was to fire Banyon. I had not intended to do it, but I had now become a restaurateur.
“As it turned out, Frank and I became partners. He supplied the meat, and all the food with the exception of the fresh fish. Banyon took care of getting the fish, and we all made money. When I sobered up, I realized the investment was more important than punishing Banyon, who turned out to be a good chef. Besides, I could keep an eye on him, and he was also good to drink with. He drank a shot and then a beer, a lot of them. It wasn’t that I had gotten over my envy of his getting my house. On the contrary, I believed I could get him to sell me the house someday.
“For three years I drank, chased women, and paid little attention to my land and business. Everything kind of ran by itself. In the evenings I would go to my restaurant, and sit at the best table, greeting people and offering a drink from my rum bottle. My money continued to grow. Every week I went to the bank where I had worked during the war and deposited the currency. I kept paying on the vault space that held the tablet. I just couldn’t think of anything to do with it.
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